Ringo wished he could get the ruby red ring off of his finger badly. He hated having to run away from the people whose religion insisted he be put up as a sacrifice because of it. They were such a nuisance.

The people had tried to trap him numerous times throughout the week. One of the times, they made a hologram of a drum set that would make him fall through the floor upon going near it. They waited for him impatiently.

“Where is that vertebrate?!” they scowled, running out of names to call him. Right after that had been said, the floor fell through. Ringo and his friends looked through.

“Did you do this, Ringo?” John asked.

“No,” he replied, still looking through the hole.

“Well, whoever it was has no decorum.”

“Look who’s talking,” George said. The four laughed and John stuck his tongue out. They then left the room as it was, figuring it would be fixed later like it had before.